


Open Windows (Woke Up And You Were Gone)

by blindlyseeking



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Christmas, Comfort/Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:58:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindlyseeking/pseuds/blindlyseeking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short fic that I began some time ago about recovery and love</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Windows (Woke Up And You Were Gone)

            No one expected there to be a Christmas that year. No one expected Gerard to even be alive that year. This is what Frank’s thinking about while he rubs Gerard’s back as he pukes in a trashcan in an alley just far away enough for fans not to see. He can’t imagine how there’s anything still left in Gerard, that’s how long he’s been keeled over, spilling his guts. He’s seen Gerard shitfaced, first when they were innocently drinking off the nerves but then Shitfaced Gerard became Regular Gerard. But he was never sick like this, not that Frank can remember, but he’s been seeing less and less of Gerard all the time. Stroking Gerard’s face clean, Frank realizes both their faces are wet, cold air stinging their eyes.

            “Come on,” he says. “We’ll take a cab back to the hotel.” Gerard wraps his arms around Frank’s waist, just barely able to cling on, and staggers next to his best friend. The night is ice cold and their breath, Frank’s quick from the physical exertion of moving Gerard and the other’s too slow, too deep, condenses into silver clouds in front of them, momentarily turning vibrant under the bright lights of whatever Japanese city they’re in now. Gerard is whispering under his breath, but Frank can’t hear what he’s saying, so he simply nods in response and says, “It’s okay. We’ll be at the hotel soon.”

            When they finally hail a cab, Frank gives the driver directions.

            “Is your friend well?” the driver asks in business-like English.

            “Yeah, he’s just fine,” Frank answers as Gerard slumps against his shoulder, wet hair pressed into his neck. “Stay awake, Gee,” he murmurs when Gerard’s eyes slip shut.

            “Your friend does not look good,” the driver insists.

            “He’s fine,” Frank says shortly and hugs the lead singer closer. He places a hand on Gerard’s chest, just to make sure he can feel the steady _one-two_ beat on his heart. Even though he looks dead and twisted, Gerard’s heart is beating on and on.

            “Hey, you two are ones from the band. Chemical Romance? My son loves your music.”

            “No, I think you have us confused,” Frank says as he tips Gerard’s head up, shaking his shoulder so he’ll stay awake. The rest of the drive is silent.

            They eventually reach the hotel and Frank throws a wad of money at the driver, not even bothering to count. He just wants to get Gerard somewhere safe. The ride up the elevator seems like forever, but they eventually get to Frank’s room. It’s a nicer hotel, one of the first nice ones they’ve ever really stayed in, and the bathroom has blue tiles and a wide bathtub.

            “Come on, Gerard. Let’s get you cleaned up.” There were so many times Frank fantasized about pulling Gerard’s clothes off, seeing him naked, but never like this. There was nothing sexy about it. Gerard couldn’t stand up straight from exhaustion, so he rests his forehead on Frank’s shoulder while he tries to lift Gerard’s shirt over his head. The only sound is the steady rhythm of the bathtub filling and Frank’s sniffles. He sits his band mate down on the edge of the tub and pulls off his pants and underwear, going slowly and deliberately. It’s only then that Gerard say something coherent.

            “Frank…”

            “I’m right here, Gerard.” He helps Gerard into the tub. Frank doesn’t really mind that he’s getting his sweatshirt wet as he eases his band mate in, washes the warm water all over his body. When Gerard can’t sit up, though, Frank strips down to his t-shirt and boxers and climbs in with him. The water is shut off and Gerard slides easily into Frank’s body, and he’s right – even though he shouldn’t think about it right now – he was right, their bodies fit perfectly against each other. There’s some sort of symmetry in Frank’s shaking frame and Gerard’s heavy shoulders pushing against his chest. Frank washes Gerard’s chest, then scoops handfuls of water over his head until they’re both adequately soaked.

            “Gerard… why do you keep doing this to yourself?” he asks his friend who he knows won’t answer. Instead of waiting for an answer, Frank finds the shampoo and sinks his fingers into Gerard’s hair. He wishes he could wash away the sadness, the disappointment, the stench of alcohol, but even when it’s gone it’s still there behind all our eyes and in every step. Frank is exhausted.

            “I’ve got to rinse you hair, Gee,” he whispers and the other man lets out a small sigh in response. He tilts his head back so it’s resting in Frank’s lap, soapsuds sliding into the cooling water. Gerard’s hair is soft but short, ever since he cut it in a freak out with kitchen scissors. Frank wasn’t there. He thought of Gerard’s long hair as a sign of his descent into the addiction, when he had lost it. He doesn’t really know what the short hair means for him though. Doesn’t want to know. With that thought, Frank squeezes his eyes shut and rests his forehead on Gerard’s, still half submerged. He has to grit his teeth and squeeze his face tight so he won’t cry.

            “Okay,” he says and pulls away quickly. “Let’s get you dried off.” Getting Gerard out of the tub is an ordeal, but eventually he’s sitting on the toilet, slightly more with it than he was before. Frank strips off his wet clothes and searches Gerard’s suitcase for clean clothing, but the only thing he packed were his stage clothes. He searches for his biggest pair of boxers, ones that he borrowed from Ray a few years ago and had never thought to return. In the bathroom he dries Gerard off once more and dresses him in the single article of clothing.

            “Will you wait here?” he asks. _Stupid_ , he thinks, _As if Gerard would just get up and leave. As if Gerard wants to do anything. Stupid, stupid, stupid._ That is just the thing. Gerard doesn’t want Frank. Gerard doesn’t even want him as a band mate. He doesn’t want anything that _Frank_ has to offer. Gerard wants to die. Frank knows that it’s not his fault that Gerard’s so desperate to leave everything behind. Even if he _had_ loved Frank, not as a friend, it wouldn’t matter because the only thing that Gerard allows himself to love is his sadness. His too deep, six miles beneath the sea sadness where even Frank can’t pull him out.

            He tries to take a deep breath in but the air of the hotel room seems too close and tight, so Frank opens a window. The gauzy curtain flutters with the gust of chilly air that immediately hits Frank’s face. It’s exactly what he needs. Gerard mutters from the other room.

            “I’m right here,” Frank says but he’s unsure if he’s consoling Gerard or himself. Either way, he can be sure that it doesn’t work. As the air fills the bedroom, Frank walks to the bathroom and pulls Gerard up yet again.

            “Come on, baby.” His mother used to use sickly pet names for him when he was sick and he’s found that the habit stuck. “We’re gonna get you into a bed. A nice big, clean bed with cool sheets all tucked in instead of the ones in our bunks. And when you sleep all the bad thoughts are going to be gone.” Frank knows that probably won’t be true. Gerard is prone to nightmares and Frank can hear him muttering anxiously in his sleep throughout the night, occasionally waking in a bout of panting and coughing. “Why can’t I save you?” Frank asks. Gerard makes no sign that he heard him, only sinks into the bed as Frank pulls the covers up to his chin. “Sleep.”

            And he does for most of the night. There’s a chair in the corner of the room and Frank curls himself up in it, even though he knows that he won’t be sleeping tonight. He watches Gerard carefully, making sure that he’s still breathing and feeling a wave of relief when Gerard shifts in his sleep. The sky is turning a washed out shade of grey when Gerard regains consciousness.

            “Frank…” he mumbles and sits up in the hotel bed. Frank had hours to come to his decision. He’d been thinking about it for weeks, that annoying voice in the back of his head whispering the unadulterated, disgusting truth.

            “After this tour, I think I’m gonna leave the band,” he says.

            “What… the fuck, Frank?” Gerard’s face immediately screws in on itself. It was one of the things that Frank knew he loved about Gerard: he wasn’t afraid to look ugly when he cried. He was so honest and complete with his emotions. Frank wants to go back on what he just said when Gerard gets that look, but he can’t bring himself too.

            “We’ve all tried to help you, but if you can’t help yourself then I need to get out before you drag me down with you.” He rehearsed the words in his head but they still feel like betrayal on his lips. “I won’t sit by and watch you kill yourself anymore. This band is about saving kids. We can’t save kids if we can’t even save ourselves.”

            Gerard is shaking his head.

            “I’ll get better…” he tries but Frank’s heard that one a thousand times. He looks downwards.

            “I’m gonna go out for a while. Take a walk maybe.” Frank gets up and closes the window. He can sense Gerard grappling for the right words behind him, but Frank is determined not to look at him. It’s only when he gets to the door that he speaks.

            “I love you,” he blurts. It’s Frank’s turn to swallow down a lump in his throat.

            All he can manage is a pained, “Yeah,” then leaves.

***

            The tour ends two days later, all of the members keeping themselves in pained seclusion. Nobody talks about it, just waves halfheartedly as they leave each other at the airport. Frank spends the next few weeks locked alone in his small studio he built in his apartment. This guitar with his blood still crusted on the face and E string broken, this guitar covered in stickers, a Sharpied testament of love to New Jersey on the strap. He’s not ready to give it up. Not yet.

            He spends Thanksgiving at his mother’s house, picking halfheartedly at his vegetarian stuffing and checking his phone ever five minutes to see if Brian, Gerard, _anyone_ called him. They haven’t.

            November slips into December, and Frank remembers the way that Gerard used to bundle himself in a thousand coats and sweaters just to sit inside coffee shops and read comic books with him. Frank barely leaves his house anymore, afraid that he’s going to miss a call from the band. He sits on his living room floor, strumming idly at his guitar, trying to find the music within himself once again. He’s shocked how dependent he became on his band to write. For each song he writes there’s always something… missing.

            Finally, Frank gets an email from Mikey. In usual Mikey style, it’s short and to the point.

 

_Hey,_

            _Alicia and I are gonna have a small thing for Christmas if you feel like coming. Gerard’s gonna be there._

_mikeyway_

            Blood pounding in Frank’s ears, he taps out a quick response.

 

_Sure thing. Can I be there around 7?_

_frnk_

            At 7:12, he’s standing outside Mikey’s apartment door contemplating whether to knock or just bolt. He’s never felt that before, at least not with the band. Vegetarian lasagna courtesy his mother in hand, Frank knocks on the door before he talks himself out of it.

            The door swings open immediately with a resounding, “Sup motherfucker!” Alicia catches him in a warm hug and Mikey’s close behind her, and though his is more bone than softness, Frank loves it just the same. As he shuffles in he sees Bob and James cooking up a storm in the kitchen. Well, James is anyways. Bob is mostly getting in the way, but it’s the thought that counts. And for twenty minutes, it’s like nothing’s changed, just friends messing around together and fighting the cold outside. Frank couldn’t imagine wanting to leave this family he had built for himself.

            “Hey guys, where were you? I was freaked,” Mikey is saying in the other room.

            Ray throws his coat and scarf over the couch and says, “It’s okay, we were just caught up in the storm.” Gerard shuffles through the doorway, looking thin and more ghostly than Frank ever remembers but… sober. He gives a slight wave.

            “Hi guys,” he says. “Hi Frank.” Frank can feel all the attention in the room directed at him, though everyone also pointedly refuses to look at the two of them. Him and his goddamn polite friends.

            “Hey Gerard,” he says, smiling slightly. The tension in the room melts away like ice. Gerard shucks off his gloves.

            “So where’s the coffee?” Gerard says.

            The night blurs together after that: James’s shockingly accurate Mariah Carey impression, Ray displaying his newest addition to his collection of tacky Christmas sweaters, and of course ruining the main course, so they have pumpkin pie and ice cream for dinner instead. Frank eyes the cups in Gerard’s hand all night (first coffee, then water), but it is his sudden realization that no one’s been drinking that night at all. It’d be a surprise if Mikey even had alcohol in the house. The pieces to what should have been a strikingly simple puzzle fall in to place in Frank’s mind. Alicia and Gerard are dancing to an Eagles record when Frank finally gets a chance to talk to Ray alone.

            “What happened?” Frank asks. He doesn’t have to specify what he’s asking about. Ray knows. It’s something Frank’s always appreciated about him.

            “Brain set him straight. Gerard called him up four days after the tour and didn’t know where he was… ready to die. He told Brian that was gonna be the end of it. Cold turkey. I think he lived with him for a couple of weeks, actually. But yeah, just like that. It was horrible for him.”

            “Why didn’t you guys call me?”

            “We figured you to, uhh, needed some time apart. He told us what you said. He thought you didn’t want to see him ever again.”

            “Jesus.” Frank looks over at Gerard, doing a haphazard and flail-y version of the twist. Gerard was his best friend. God, he had been in love with him since day one. How could Gerard ever think he hated him?

            “I mean… do you still want out?” Ray asked.

            “Of… of course not, man. You guys are my family.” Frank nudged his shoulder and grinned. After a moment, Ray exchanged his smile and ruffled his air.

            “You fucking idiot. You know you need to talk to him, right?”

            “Yeah.”

            The night is long and full though, and it’s almost midnight before Frank finds his way into the bedroom for a little quiet. Gerard starts from his position, sitting at the foot of the bed.

            “Sorry I didn’t– uhh I didn’t know you were in here,” Frank spews.

            “Hey it’s okay if like –“

            “Huh? What did –”

            “I mean –“

            “Sorry.”

            “Sorry.” Frank hasn’t felt this awkwardly around Gerard since he caught him sucking another guy’s dick in the band’s trailer a couple years back. At least neither of them had to ask.

            “You go,” Frank says, gesturing in an attempt to fill up the space between them.

            “I just wanted to say it’s good to see you again,” Gerard says, pausing after each word like he has to look both ways before crossing.

            “It’s good to see you too, man. I missed you.”

            Gerard’s ducked head pops up. “You did?” He ruffles his hair and clears his throat. “Umm… you did?”

            “Yeah.” Frank offers his gentlest smile. Gerard returns a timid one and sits on the edge of the bed. After a moment, Frank takes it as an invitation to sit down too. Gerard takes a deep breath and begins.

            “I’m clean. Four months, eight days, fucking eleven hours I’ve been clean. I don’t have withdrawals anymore but I still wake up in the middle of the night, and I still want to feel numb all the time but I’m clean. I stopped. And I know I jeopardized the band and all of your lives because I’m selfish. I didn’t mean to. I would have never. But I also… I ruined our… I ruined whatever we had or might have had between us, I mean, our our our friendship! I was a fucking dick and you didn’t even want to look at me and I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I’m selfish. I fucked up. I’m sorry. I – “ Gerard stutters and chokes. His eyes are huge like he is trying to fit everything in the world into one tiny phrase, and he’s looking at Frank like he… like he…

            And then they’re kissing. Frank grabs his face and holds him as close as he can.  Frank hates words sometimes because they get what he’s thinking and feeling all muddled until he can’t remember himself, so he loves this kiss because he doesn’t have to try to translate. He can just feel. He can just give. Gerard wraps his hands around Frank’s waist, and they’re tensed and precise. They kiss until they feel bruised. Even after Gerard pulls back to breathe, they’re still entwined, Frank stroking Gerard’s hair out of his face.

            “I’m sorry. I never meant for us to end up like we were. I never want to leave,” Frank whispers. Gerard’s face glows like Christmas lights.

            “So you’ll stay? In the band?”

            “Of course, of course. I was just so frustrated, and I didn’t see a way out. I wanted you to be okay more than I wanted myself to be okay. That was wrong. I’m not blameless, I know, but this band comes first. Always.” Frank kisses him again, softer. “What’s the matter?”

            Gerard shakes his head. “It’s just… this is fast. And I’m slow. Even if I weren’t recovering I’d still be slow. You know me.”

            Frank’s hand was steadfast over Gerard’s. “I know. And I’m gonna wait for you because I – “

            Gerard stops his sentence with a kiss.

            “Not yet. We have forever in front of us, you know.”

            “Yeah.”

            They hold each other for God knows how long. For the first time in what seems like forever, things feel simple.

            “By the way, merry Christmas, Frank.”

            “Merry Christmas, Gerard.”


End file.
